The Apocalypse Drill
by PenPatronus
Summary: Following the events of "Partners," Callen is recovering from getting beat up by Sam when Hetty springs a surprise Kill House training on the team. It turns into a deadly fight for survival when the role-players switch from Simunitions to bullets, and Callen gets shot for real. Bromance, Hurt / Comfort, angst. Featuring G, Sam, Kensi, Deeks, Eric, and Nell. MAJOR CALLEN WHUMP.
1. The Kill Neighborhood

**Summary: **Following the events of "Partners," Callen is recovering from getting beat up by Sam when Hetty springs a surprise Kill House training on the team. It turns into a deadly fight for survival when the role-players switch from Simunitions to bullets, and Callen gets shot for real. Bromance, Hurt / Comfort, angst. FeaturingG, Sam, Kensi, Deeks, Eric, and Nell. MAJOR CALLEN WHUMP.

**The Apocalypse Drill**

PenPatronus

Chapter 1 of 5

**Kill Neighborhood**

Inside a black NCIS surveillance van a short woman sipping tea and a bald man drinking coffee sat in a comfortable silence. The rest of the parking lot was empty except for typical Los Angeles debris: overturned shopping carts, rogue newspapers rolling in the wind like tumbleweeds, and random shoes. A full moon glared down at the abandoned hospital with its five floors of boarded-up windows, chipped paint, and decaying bricks. Hetty watched the dying streetlights flickering in the rear-view mirror and thought about how much had changed since the first time her team entered the facility six years ago, looking for Dom.

Granger interrupted her thoughts. "What's that?" he asked, pointing at something white on the third floor flapping in the wind like a flag of surrender. Hetty leaned forward in the passenger seat and raised a pair of binoculars. Someone inside the hospital was threading some sort of white fabric through a hole in the wall no wider than a broom handle. An inch more appeared every few seconds, like someone was punching it through.

"What color paint are they using in their Simunitions?" Hetty asked.

"Neon green."

"Not red?"

"Not red."

Hetty handed Granger the binoculars. "Then that must be blood."

Granger studied the white fabric. "It's a shirt." The wind picked up and flattened it into the shape of a collared, button-down with a crimson stain in the center. "Wasn't he wearing…You think it's _his_ shirt?"

Hetty pursed her lips. "Extract them. Now."

"The doors—"

"—and windows are undoubtedly sealed. Get a battering ram." Hetty pointed at the shirt twitching in the wind like the toes of a hanged man. "If they could have escaped or warned us in some other way, they would have."

Granger considered arguing but decided against it. He unsheathed his cell phone and hit the speed dial for the LAPD. "This is NCIS," he barked. "I need a SWAT team mobilized in ten minutes."

* * *

><p><strong>Two Hours Earlier<strong>

Agent G Callen had a black belt in "nonchalance." Hetty once said that he was the type of man who would stroll out of a burning building while everybody else ran. Callen pondered this as he attempted a blasé saunter from his desk to the men's restroom with a mouthful of blood. He could control so much of his body's actions: posture, speed, steady breathing, etc., but he couldn't regulate the color of his own skin. Callen knew that he looked pale. He felt how white his face was the same way you sense a change in temperature. He knew that although Sam Hanna's eyes were on his computer screen, his attention was on Callen. G felt that attention on the back of his neck even when the bathroom door shut behind him.

The second he was out of ear shot and eye line, Callen sprinted to the nearest sink and spit blood. Retching flexed the bruised skin and muscles in his torso and the pain yanked a miserable groan out of his throat. A full minute of puking and spitting and coughing later the nausea finally subsided. Callen braced his elbows against the porcelain sink, cupped his hands under running cold water and splashed his face, rinsed out his mouth, and washed away stray specks of blood that splashed onto his neck and cheeks.

Once he was sure that he wouldn't fall over, Callen let go of the sink and stood up straight. He took a deep breath and tugged his green t-shirt up to his chin. "Dammit," he whispered. Instead of the several fist-sized bruises he expected, Callen found one enormous black-and-blue, green-yellow-purple contusion that stretched from his bellybutton to his sternum.

"Dude," a voice said from behind him, "that's got to hurt."

Callen immediately dropped his shirt. He made eye contact with Marty Deeks in the mirror and scowled.

"It's shaped like Alfred Hitchcock's silhouette," Deeks said. "Did Sam design it like that on purpose?"

"It's not as bad as it looks," Callen said. He ripped a towel out of the dispenser and dried his hands. When G moved to leave, Deeks blocked the door. "Problem?" G asked.

Deeks cleared his throat. He looked at the wall over Callen's left shoulder instead of into his eyes. "You should get that checked out, tough guy. I've had my fair share of liver shots. You might have hematoma."

"I'm fine, Deeks."

This time when G tried to walk past him, Deeks held his arm out. "Don't make me tell Sam," he threatened. Callen rolled his eyes. Deeks switched tactics. "Look, man, we've been working together for years. I've only figured out about five percent of what makes you tick but I know enough to come to this conclusion: you won't go to the hospital because you don't want Sam to feel worse than he already does for beating the crap out of you – on your anniversary, of all days. But seriously, dude, if he caused some major trauma to your liver, you could die. You aren't coughing up blood, are you?"

"No." Callen didn't even blink. "Like I said – I'm fine."

Deeks didn't blink, either, but he did squint with suspicion. He started to speak but just then both men heard a whistle from outside. Deeks reluctantly dropped his arm, held the door open for Callen, and followed him out. The pair were halfway up the stairs when they heard a whistle from behind them. They leaned over the railing and saw Hetty, Granger, Sam, Eric, Nell and Kensi waiting for them at the end of the hallway.

"This way, gentlemen," Hetty called. She waved a bright red envelope at them. "We're all going on a field trip."

"Oh no," Callen whispered to himself, but still loud enough for Deeks to hear, "not now…"

Once everyone crowded into the van, Eric Beale leaned towards Nell Jones and whispered, "Is she abducting us? It feels like she's abducting us."

"Mr. Beale, if I was abducting you, you'd be unconscious and hogtied in the trunk." Hetty turned around in the front passenger seat and faced her agents. "Mr. Callen. Would you care to debrief the uninitiated?"

G Callen sat beside his partner in the first row of seats. "You know where she's taking us?" Sam Hanna demanded of G. Sam wore dark jeans, black boots, a long-sleeved navy shirt and his surliest expression. "You couldn't have warned me about this?"

"I didn't know _when_ she going to pull this. I'm sure Nicole will forgive you for missing the rest of her piano recital." Callen offered his best friend an empathetic half-smile. "If you're wondering where this is in your job description, look at page 40 of your employee manual. It's all explained in the footnotes of the footnotes _of_ the footnotes."

"You'll need a magnifying glass," said Granger from the driver's seat. The traffic light turned green and he steered the van onto the highway.

Kensi Blye shared a look with her partner, Marty Deeks, and then poked Callen in the ear with a forefinger. "Talk!" she demanded. "I'm missing my favorite TV show, so it better be good."

Callen sighed. He twisted in his seat so that he could see Sam, Kensi, Deeks, Nell, and Eric all at the same time. "It's an Apocalypse Drill."

"A what?" Kensi, Deeks, and Eric asked.

"Dammit," said Sam. He leaned his forehead against the window and sighed so hard that the glass fogged up.

"Hetty, you knew I had plans tonight." Nell's voice was dangerously close to a whine.

Hetty craned her neck to make eye contact with the young analyst. "Oh, I'm sorry, dear. Terrorism is quite inconvenient for us all."

"You want to explain?" Deeks asked Callen.

"An Apocalypse Drill is a spontaneous Kill House simulation. We will be locked in an unfamiliar location for exactly 24 hours with nothing but the clothes on our backs." Callen unsheathed his weapon and handed it to Hetty, and then gestured for the others to follow his lead. "Typically the tactical role-players plant a few essentials somewhere in the House: modified weapons and extra Simunitions, food and water… The point is that we have to approach a catastrophic scenario without the aid of traditional resources. We go in blind and alone."

"You're putting _us_ in a Kill House?" Eric gulped, gesturing at Nell and himself.

"I – I'm wearing a skirt," Nell stammered.

"I'm wearing flip-flops!"

"Terrorists aren't polite," Granger growled. "They're not going to wait while you change clothes."

"Is Monty dead in this scenario?" Deeks asked. "If Monty's dead then I have nothing to live for."

"Where are we going?" Kensi asked Hetty.

"Mansfield Hospital." Hetty looked away from Callen and stared at the empty space beside his elbow.

Sam frowned. "Why does that sound familiar…?" He looked at his partner for help and Callen mouthed the name, "Dom."

"An entire hospital isn't a Kill House," said Deeks. "More like a Kill… Neighborhood!"

"Here is the scenario." Hetty tore open the envelope and scanned it. "Los Angeles has been devastated by domestic terrorism. The surviving population has been evacuated. The power grid is down. Your leaders are dead. And that was just the beginning of their attack. They have a nuke that will detonate automatically in 24 hours. Your objective is to breach the terrorists' headquarters, terminate or restrain the enemy, and disarm the bomb."

"What do I do when…?" Eric coughed into his fist, "…_if _I get shot?"

Hetty stretched her neck so that she could make eye contact with him. "If you get hit with a killshot you are automatically eliminated from this exercise. The hospital was already lined with fire alarm levers every hundred feet. We modified them and set up portable generators. If you're metaphorically killed - or injured in reality, of course - pull a lever. The nearest exit will automatically open and we'll extract you."

"Beale, I swear, if you're in there for five minutes and pull an alarm because of a stubbed toe…" Granger began. The van exited the freeway and took a sharp turn into an abandoned lot.

Sam looked at his watch, and then held it up for Hetty to see. "Hetty, it is 6pm on a Friday. My kid's performing Bach as we speak and I'm supposed to go fishing tomorrow with a buddy of mine. Couldn't this wait for another time?"

"Terrorists are not polite," Granger growled again.

"Going in blind…" Nell rubbed her palms down her cheeks. "Have I mentioned I have control issues?"

"Your control issues are adorable," Eric whispered.

"Shut up," Nell said with half a smile. She gently punched Eric in the arm. Nell's brown sweater over her red blouse matched her knee-length skirt, which she accessorized with red Converse shoes.

The others didn't see Eric wrap his fingers around her hand. "Does this still count as our first date?" he whispered.

"I see neither wine nor candlelight, Mr. Beale."

"Wine and candlelight? I was planning on taking you to the food court at the mall."

Nell couldn't help but smile. Eric squeezed her fingers, and sighed. "I wish Hetty would at least let me take my phone in there…"

"The purpose of this scenario is to take you out of your comfort zone, Mr. Beale," said Hetty. "Ask yourself this: without your technology, with no luxury or advantage or hope of escape, what kind of a man are you?"

Eric considered the question. "I think I'm the kind of man who screams like a girl and hides behind Callen."

Deeks raised his hand. "So am I."

"We're here," Kensi said. She started taking her standard weapons out of her tight blue jeans and the not-so-standard ones from the bra under her purple tee. Without her gun, knives and earwig, Kensi felt naked.

Granger drove around the hospital and parked thirty yards away from the front doors. Callen jumped out of the van. He started rolling his white shirtsleeves up to his elbows as he studied the building, memorizing the layout. Sam ambled up beside him. With his arms folded against his chest and his chin protruding he looked like a child on the verge of a temper tantrum. "Come on, big guy," Callen said, patting his partner's shoulder. "It'll be fun!"

Sam cocked an eyebrow. "You're joking."

The group gathered at the front doors. All of the lobby windows were boarded up tight with old plywood, but a pair of brand new deadlocks protruded from the newly installed steel door. Hetty looked at her watch. "I'll see you in 24 hours." She patted Eric's arm fondly. "Try not to get shot in the eye."

"That – that could happen?" Eric sputtered.

Callen had his game face on. "Listen up," he said. As he spoke he adjusted his shirt collar. "First weapon we find goes to Sam. Second to Kensi. Sam and I will take point. Deeks, Kensi, you take our six. Keep Eric and Nell in the middle within arm's reach. Nell, you focus on provisions. Pocket any rations and water bottles they've left for us to find. Eric, I want you to keep an eye out for anything useful. Tech, lighters, even shoelaces." Eric saluted him.

"Good luck," said Hetty. Her watch beeped and she waved them inside.

"Let's do this," said Sam. He and Callen led the way into the dark hospital.

**To Be Continued**


	2. The French Woman

**The Apocalypse Drill**

PenPatronus

Chapter 2 of 5

**The French Woman**

The French woman stood in the middle of the uppercase "H" of the hospital roof helipad. She wore her shoulder-length hazel hair down but clipped back, a fitted knee-length maroon dress, tall black pumps, and blood-red lipstick. With ruby fingernails she typed a series of commands into a smartphone. Half a dozen screens popped up, showing every corner of the first floor. She smiled wide, showing off her razor-sharp incisors. "There you are," she cooed, rubbing the pad of her thumb across G Callen's face. To the underling standing in the door behind her she said, "They're here. Are the TRPs all secured?"

The slim man in a black ski mask stood at attention. "They're dead, mademoiselle."

The French woman watched the NCIS team enter the hospital lobby. As soon as all six of them were inside she pushed a command and an iron wall sealed the double doors behind them. She giggled as, in the light of a single flickering bulb hanging from a dusty ceiling fan, the tallest man jumped and squealed at the sight. "The alarm levers?"

"Disabled. We have remote control of all elevators, vents, lights, everything. A few faux weapons and water bottles were left behind so that they won't get suspicious."

"Trapped like rats in a maze," the French woman said with satisfaction. "I'm torn. I have 24 hours to play with him. Part of me wants to take my time and savor it but another part…" The French woman turned on her heel to face the man. "Shepherd them upstairs. Use Simunitions until they get to the third floor, then switch to the SIGS. Shoot to wound, not kill. I promised my father that I would finish Agent G Callen with my own hands."

"Yes, mademoiselle."

When she was left alone on the roof, the French woman returned her attention to the hospital lobby. "_Votre sang est le mein_," she whispered to Callen. "Your blood is mine."

* * *

><p>A pair of guns hung from the hospital lobby ceiling like tinsel on a Christmas tree. The second G and Sam jumped up to grab them, two figures dressed in black clothes and ski masks popped up from behind the front desk and shot at the group. "<em>Cover<em>!" Callen barked. He dove behind a row of overturned chairs, and then twisted and fired back. Sam took out the first shooter and Callen shot the second in the chest. The pair of TRPs collapsed to the floor and played dead.

"Search them," G ordered. Nell and Eric handed the weapons off to Kensi and Deeks, and also found some flashlights.

"They were guarding this door," Sam said, gesturing at the hallway on the left.

"Lead the way," said Callen. The team regrouped and followed Sam down the hall.

None of them saw the "dead" role players get up.

Sam kicked in the first door of many. Eric held a flashlight high above his head and illuminated what remained of a laboratory and EKG tech. Callen opened the room on the opposite side while Kensi and Deeks continued towards the Emergency Room at the end of the hall. "Jackpot," Deeks announced when he opened a janitor's closet. "One for you, and one for you," he said, dropping loaded weapons into Nell and Eric's hands. "They fire just like real weapons, Beale."

Eric held the gun between his thumb and forefinger like it was exceptionally dirty laundry. "I've only trained in the range once. I almost shot Callen in the foot."

Nell cocked her weapon and immediately aimed it. "Do we still get extracted from this little game if we get hit by friendly fire?" she asked the group.

Suddenly the swinging doors that led to the ER opened and two bad guys chucked fist-sized objects down the hall. "Grenades!" Kensi, Callen and Sam simultaneously shouted. Everyone ducked into the nearest room and dove to the floor. They didn't hear a "boom" but did hear the splatter of paint. When they peeked out they discovered that the hallway walls were neon green.

Deeks examined the splash of paint on his elbow. "Does this mean I get to go home?"

"That isn't a vital body part, Deeks," Kensi said.

"It's vital to me." They found a staircase and started climbing in a line with Sam in the front and Deeks in the back.

"Shouldn't we be, you know, _not_ talking?" Eric hissed at them.

Sam and Callen exchanged half-smiles. "Eric, the bad guys can hear your big feet coming from two flights of stairs away," Sam explained. "It doesn't matter if they hear our conversation."

"Can't you walk on your tiptoes?" Nell hissed.

Eric tried it. In flip-flops. Kensi had to grab his elbow to steady him when he tripped. "Nope," he said.

"Why do you think Hetty chose to spring this drill on us tonight?" Sam asked G.

Callen shrugged. "Hopefully not because there's an actual threat to Los Angeles."

"Don't jinx us," said Deeks.

"We've been talking about our date all week." Nell bit her bottom lip as she went through her memories of the past five days. "She knew that Eric and I were going out tonight. She knew about Nicole's recital and Kensi's TV show. Callen, what were you planning on doing?"

"Half pepperoni, half mushroom," G said. "Double cheese."

"Ugh, my stomach just growled," Deeks said. "We should definitely go out for pizza after this."

"So she _wanted_ to inconvenience us," Sam concluded. He reached the door to the second floor and peeked through the glass window.

"Terrorists aren't polite," Callen said, repeating Granger's words.

"Sam, what do you see?" Kensi asked.

"Three guys at the north end of the hall. One of them is pacing. Looks nervous."

"Guarding something important?" Nell wondered.

"Only one way to find out," Eric said in his best impression of Sam Hanna.

Sam's glare looked extra fierce in the dim glow of the flashlights. "Don't think I won't shoot you myself, Beale."

Sam gripped the doorknob and started to pull, but Callen suddenly grabbed his wrist. "Bad guy on the far right. Isn't that one we shot in the lobby?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "G, they're all built pretty similar and they're wearing the same clothes. How can you even tell?"

Callen's eyebrows closed ranks. "Something about his posture looks familiar."

"They can't rejoin the simulation once they're dead, right?" Eric asked. "That would be cheating… right?"

Deeks made a show of cocking his gun. "Are we breaching or what? Seriously – I want that pizza. Think they deliver to creepy abandoned hospitals?"

"There are a dozen doors between us and them," Sam reported. "Probably patients' rooms. G and I will provide cover fire while the rest of you run into the first room on the right. We'll inch down the hallway one door at a time."

"Roger that." Eric yelped when Nell elbowed him in the side. "What – am I not supposed to say that? Is that the wrong vocabulary?"

"Your vocabulary is adorable," Nell said with a rare wide smile.

"Let's go," said Kensi. Sam counted to three and flung open the door.

The TRPs opened fire right away. Green paint splattered around them but Sam and Callen held their ground. Eric and Nell scrambled into the first room while Kensi and Deeks continued onto the next. They provided cover while Sam and Callen ducked into another area.

"One down!" Deeks reported. The two remaining TRPs overturned a moldy couch and ducked behind it. Only their eyes were visible when they raised their weapons.

"I have an idea!" a voice called. The other five were surprised to hear Eric's voice. "Give me a minute."

"I'll give you half of one!" G shouted. His gun clicked twice. "I'm out of ammo over here." Nell took Eric's weapon and slid it across the floor to Callen.

"Beale, what are you doing?" Sam asked when he dove into the room Eric shared with Nell. "Is that a manikin?"

Eric hoisted up a plastic man-sized doll. "It's CPR Carl!" he announced. "They use dolls like these to practice—"

Sam cut him off. "Diversion coming in ten, G!" he yelled at the hall.

Sam and Eric dragged the doll to the door, counted to three, and tossed CPR Carl into the line of fire. Dozens of Simunitions slammed into him. In less than three seconds his entire naked chest was neon green. The others took advantage of the distraction to fire off more shots.

"Two more down!" Kensi announced.

"Nice one, Beale," Deeks said.

The team regrouped around the manikin in the hallway. "Rest in peace, CPR Carl," Eric said.

"These guys aren't very organized," Sam said. He turned in a slow circle, counting the splatter points where the Simunitions hit the walls, the floor, and the ceiling. "They didn't concentrate their fire at all."

Nell followed his line of sight. "I thought that the role-players are always ex-army and Special Forces?"

"They're supposed to be." Kensi looked around for their leader. "Callen?"

G was leaning against the wall with his hands on his knees. He stood up straight when everyone turned their attention to him. "Go search those guys," he said stiffly. "I'll double check these rooms for supplies." G ducked through the nearest door as soon as the others turned their backs. At first he just leaned his back against the wall, intending to briefly rest, but the dizziness hit him and the pain in his torso seemed to sharpen when he actually paid his full attention to it, and Callen slid down and crumpled to his side. "Dammit." G spit a wad of blood on the floor.

G was too distracted to notice when a figure followed him into the room. His only warning was the sound of a cocking gun. He opened his eyes and saw the weapon pointed at his heart half a second before it fired.

* * *

><p>Sam Hanna was halfway down the hall when he heard the single gunshot. "G?" Sam sprinted back, gun raised, glancing in each room as he went until he found his partner. "Deeks?"<p>

"What the hell?" Callen was shouting. He wiped flecks of neon green Simunition paint off of his neck.

Marty Deeks stood over Callen with his gun still aimed at the green splatter on G's chest. "Oops," he said robotically, "I accidentally shot Callen. My bad. Oops."

The others crowded into the doorframe. "What happened?" Kensi gasped.

Sam stared at his partner for a long minute. His left eye twitched. "Everyone outside," he barked. "You, too, Deeks. Pull one of the fire alarm levers out there." Eric cowered at the sharp edge of Sam's voice. He and Nell scurried down the hall. Kensi waited for her partner, who gave Sam a significant look before joining Kensi, and then the others, outside. Once they were alone, Sam sat on the floor and faced his partner. "Why did Deeks shoot you? And don't—"Blood rushed to Sam's face. "Don't lie to me, G. Obviously Deeks thinks you shouldn't be in this Kill House. Tell me why."

The dark circles under Callen's eyes seemed to elongate into ovals in the dim light. Carefully he pulled back his long-sleeved white shirt and tugged up his green t-shirt only three or four inches. Only far enough to show his partner a slice of his swollen, purple skin. Instinctively, Sam reached out to touch it but pulled his hand back before he did. "Ecchymosis. Dammit, I hit your liver," he whispered. "Why didn't you say something?"

Shallow tears of pain hovered in Callen's eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but a tickle in his throat forced him to cough. His hand covered his lips a moment too late. Blood splattered onto Sam's knees. "Oh, god." Sam pulled his partner's face against his shoulder and hugged his head and neck. "G, I'm so sorry."

"Sam, I… I don't think I can stand up anymore," Callen gasped against Sam's throat. His left hand dropped from his lips and crashed, limp, to the floor.

Sam adjusted his arms so that he could help G to his feet. "Let's get you to a hospital."

"We're in a hospital," Callen snorted. He moaned as Sam stood up with his arms wrapped around him. "Might pass out on you, buddy."

"Don't fight it," Sam encouraged. He pulled Callen's right arm across his shoulders and entered the hallway. "Let's head downstairs, guys," he called to the team.

* * *

><p>"I told you <em>connards<em> not to shoot him until the third floor!" the French woman snapped into a walkie-talkie as she watched Callen collapse.

"We didn't, mademoiselle," a meek voice answered her.

"Well herd them upstairs!" she barked. "Seal them on the third floor. I'm on my way."

**To Be Continued**


	3. Fish in a Barrel

**The Apocalypse Drill**

PenPatronus

Chapter 3 of 5

**Fish in a Barrel**

Kensi watched Sam and Callen emerge from the room in her peripheral vision. In her peripheral hearing she heard Sam say, "Let's head downstairs, guys." She didn't move. Neither did Deeks, Eric, or Nell. Before now, none of them noticed the soft light coming from a room directly across from the second floor stairwell. While Sam spoke to Callen, the other four investigated the light (which turned out to be a plastic flashlight), and immediately regretted it.

Sam and Callen slowly approached the doorframe and looked over their teammates' shoulders. Sam's exhale of shock tickled Deeks and Eric's ears. "How many?" he whispered.

Kensi took a deep breath and walked through the door. The bodies were piled against the far wall like discarded egg cartons. "Twelve men," Kensi whispered. "All have been shot at least twice. According to their tattoos we have three Marines, one Seal, three veterans of the Gulf War…"

"What the hell is happening here?" Eric gasped.

Callen and Sam exchanged glances. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" G whispered.

"No," Sam lied. "Absolutely not."

"The _real_ tactical role-players, I presume," Nell said.

Kensi crouched down on one knee and picked up the dying handheld flashlight. "They can't be—" she began. The flashlight flickered across one of the faces and a pair of brown eyes dilated. Kensi gasped. "One of them is still alive!"

Deeks stepped forward. Together, he and Kensi disentangled a brawny, Caucasian Navy Seal from the group and gently pulled the man out into the hall under the brightest lights. Nell got to work examining the gunshots in the Seal's arm and torso. Callen squeezed Sam's arm. "I can wait a few more minutes. He'll want to talk to you. Set me down." Sam started to argue, but G was already wiggling out of his grip. Sam gently lowered Callen to the floor and helped him lean comfortably back against the stairwell door. Callen gulped down a groan. He took some deep breaths and clenched his eyes shut.

"Eric, see if you can find something to use for bandages," Nell whispered. The Seal's blood already stained her hands.

Sam leaned over the seaman. "Barnes," he said, reading the man's nametag, "I'm Sam Hanna, Navy Seal. What happened to you?"

Barnes' muscles twitched. Sam's words stoked some fire behind his eyes. He spoke like he was trying to warn them about a bomb. "We came in to set up the Kill House… They ambushed us… "

"Who?" Sam asked.

"You have to get out of here before they seal you in. Get the emergency weapons."

"What?" Kensi asked.

Barnes flinched. Nell checked his pulse, frowned, and shook her head at Sam. "Minutes," she whispered.

"What weapons?" Sam demanded.

"Three Sigs in the employee lounge on the third floor… Hid them just in case…" Barnes squeezed his eyes so tight that the tears hovering in them couldn't escape.

Kensi's fingers moved as if they were typing as she put the pieces together. "The date and location of our Apocalypse Drill was leaked. This is a set up."

"They knew we'd be unarmed," Deeks said, continuing her train of thought. "They knew that nobody would check on us for twenty-four hours. Perfect trap."

Barnes' words started to slur. "I heard – woman – French accent – kept saying a name…"

"What name?" Sam didn't want to cause the dying man any more pain, so he wrapped his fists around empty air and shook it. "Who is she after?"

Barnes went still. With his final breath he whispered, "_**Callen**_."

G's eyes flew open wide.

The sound of cocking guns drew everyone's attention. Three figures emerged from around the left corner of the hall and raised their weapons. Hollow Simunition rounds have a slightly higher pitch than real bullets when entering the chamber, and Sam and Callen heard the difference. "Damn," was all Sam had time to say before three automatic weapons started spitting _real_ bullets.

Callen failed to get to his feet, so Sam tossed G over his shoulder and ran. "Guess I'll watch our six," Callen grunted, his nose bumping against Sam's spine.

Sam didn't slow down when a bullet pierced his right arm from behind. He assumed that the warm blood running down his skin was his, only his. He did stop, though, when twenty yards of hallway later, Eric veered off and started shouldering open a closet door. "I remember," he was explaining to Nell. "I remember the floor plan from years ago when we were trying to trade that kidnapper's sister for Dom. It's been in my head the whole time – I just wasn't scared enough to remember!"

"Eric!" four voices bellowed.

"Just – just trust me!" Eric led the way into the closet. "Just – just follow me!" Once everyone was inside, he opened another door hidden behind a stack of pillowcases. A third door was a shortcut that led back out into the opposite hall, far away from the gunfire.

Suddenly Kensi raised her gun and shot a Simunition round at the nearest fire alarm lever. She answered her teammates' question before they could ask it. "They replaced the alarms with cameras. We have to black them out. Enough that we can double back and lose them."

Deeks saw the wound on the Seal's arm. "Sam, you're bleeding, man."

"I'm good."

"Dude, I can carry Callen for a few minutes." Deeks walked around Sam to check on G. "We can stash you two somewhere safe while the rest of us look for…" Deeks found more blood than he expected when he bent over to take Callen by the shoulders. "Oh god – Kens, _Kens_!"

"What?" Sam sputtered.

Kensi handed her weapon to Nell and sprinted over. "Sam," she said when she examined what Deeks was pointing at, "that bullet in your arm went through Callen's shoulder."

"_What_?"

"Is he alive?" Nell squeaked when she joined the others.

Kensi held her fingers against G's throat. "He's unconscious – we have to stop the bleeding."

"Having a rough day, isn't he," Deeks murmured.

* * *

><p>From Callen's perspective, three things happened in quick succession, but he wasn't sure in what order. With the vague awareness of a half-asleep drunk he noticed that he was upside down, that his previously white collared shirt suddenly had a red sleeve, and that either time was recklessly skipping entire minutes or he was drifting in and out of consciousness. One moment, Sam was carrying him over one shoulder. Another moment later – or perhaps a dozen – he was lying on his back in a room with a very short ceiling lit only by the flashlights that Eric and Nell held. He watched, confused and intrigued, as Kensi wrestled him out of his collared shirt. She said something odd – something about using the shirt to communicate with Hetty – which made zero sense to Callen's foggy brain. Another dozen moments later – or perhaps just one – Callen woke up with his head pillowed in Nell's lap. She was wrapping something around his left arm when he whispered her name.<p>

"Oh!" Nell squeaked. She grasped the fabric above her chest as if her heart had skipped a beat. "Callen. You're awake. Thank God."

"Was I… not awake?" Callen grunted. He started to sit up but Nell's surprisingly strong grip pulled him back down. Dizziness hit his brain like a punch to the head and he tread water in a heavy semi-consciousness. He passed out. When he was able to speak again, he asked, "Nell, what's going on?"

"Shhh," a voice whispered. "Nell isn't here, Callen. It's just you and me at the moment. We have to stay quiet."

Callen recognized the click of a flashlight. Dim light penetrated his eyelids. "Kensi?" He blinked half a dozen times before opening his eyes. He expected to be lying on his back but he was propped up half against a moldy wall, half against his teammate.

Kensi shifted her body, adjusting Callen so that his cheek lay against her left shoulder at an angle where he could see her. She smiled at his brilliant blue eyes. "Hey."

"Hey." Callen leaned harder against her in a sort of hug, and then switched from her friend back to her boss. "Situation report, Agent Blye."

"This first, Agent Callen." Kensi unscrewed the cap off of a room-temperature water bottle and held it to his lips. When he'd swallowed half of it she took it away. "Are you hungry? We found three-fourths of a granola bar. Kept it away from the rats just for you."

"Kensi, where are we? Tell me you guys found a way out of here."

Kensi rubbed Callen's back over and over like his green t-shirt was her security blanket. "We're on the third floor of the hospital. We found Barnes' weapons and we destroyed every camera on this floor. The fake TRPs are sweeping each hallway but they haven't found any of us yet. Sam and Deeks are guarding Nell and Eric. They're trying to tap into the generator the TRPs are using. Those iron walls blocking the doors run on hydraulics. We have to cut the power before we can get through them. Callen – please – stop trying to move!"

Callen clenched his muscles one by one, trying to identify which, if any, of them were injured. When he got to his left arm, the merciless pain from the gunshot wound almost yanked a scream out of his throat. He clapped his own hands over his own mouth. Sweating, eyes watering, Callen started to tremble. Kensi held him closer. "That French woman that Barnes mentioned," Kensi whispered when Callen settled down, "any idea who she is?"

Callen exhaled quickly through his nostrils. "I have a theory. I hope I'm wrong."

"Why?"

"If it's who I think it is, then she's out for revenge. God help us if she's as obsessed and ruthless as her father."

* * *

><p>Hetty gave Granger a "look" when he spread the hospital blueprints across the hood of the van. He rolled his eyes, and slid the paper towards them both until Hetty could see it without standing on her tiptoes. "We have another problem," he grunted.<p>

"Owen, I don't have room for another problem. The space is occupied."

"This facility is scheduled for demolition. The Kill House contractor only has it for this weekend." Granger pointed at the basement level. "It will be leveled on Monday morning."

Hetty removed her glasses and massaged her eyelids. "Don't tell me…"

"The dynamite is already in the basement. Betting man's guess is that whoever has our team also has those explosives."

"Bomb squad?"

"Useless until we can get in that building. Hetty, the fire department is slowly breaking through, but new reinforced steel walls have been installed."

"Did you test the blood on that shirt?"

Granger's lips pursed together. "It's his. It's Callen's."

A furious blush crawled up Hetty's neck and into her cheeks. "So we can't get inside, they can't get out, Callen is injured, and there are explosives in the basement and…" Hetty's fury morphed her words into a low growl. She took a deep breath, took out her phone, turned on her heel, and marched away."

Owen followed her for two steps, then though better of it. "Who are you calling?"

Hetty ignored him. When the call connected she began to shout. "Leon, I need your authorization and I need it now! Let's start with a helicopter."

**To Be Continued**


End file.
